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Monday, August 11, 2014

Monday Poetry Stretch - The Kitchen

I had planned to write to form again this week, but I found myself thinking quite a lot of my mother this weekend, and nearly every memory was of her in the kitchen.

As a child I hated chores in the kitchen, particularly drying the dishes, but these are some of the times with my mom I remember most fondly. She always washed. I dried and put dishes away. I can still see her the ceramic elephant on the windowsill, trunk raised and holding her rings while she plunged her hands into very hot soapy water to scrub the pots and pans. That elephant sits on my kitchen windowsill now.

Perhaps my fondest memory of my mom standing with her back against the oven, waiting for it to warm her in the cold of winter. I wasn't tall enough to reap such benefits, but can remember putting my hand on her back and feeling just how toasty she'd gotten.

So, your challenge for this week is to write a poem set in the kitchen. I hope you will join me. Please share a link to your poem or the poem itself in the comments.

3 comments:

China measuring spoons shapedlike owls watch my mother cook.She uses recipes, but only becauseshe experiments like a mad scientist.“Do you like this one?” she asksand even though in everything elseshe reigns supreme and only wantsmy opinion to argue with it,when the salad comes outlike a small garden and the fishdressed in white sauce like a girlat her prom, shoulders sprinkledwith fresh dill like green glitterand what about a dark, spicy mixof red cabbage with bacon and mustard,made with a magic incantation no doubtand is this one better with chicken or beef,she truly wants to know. So I,willing beneficiary, acolyte of taste,not knowledge, answer herin between bites of beauty.

KITCHEN CONVERSATIONShuffling on mint green linoleum, Bone weary from hours of educating Children not her own, Mom slices beef Steak tomatoes as I pull apart a globe of Lettuce. Voices of 1960’s troubadoursSwell from our radio, Mom starts singing, Slightly out of tune, as upturn creases emerge On her face. After placing meatloaf into the oven I reach up on my toes to kiss her cheek which is As chilled as a late fall windowsill. “What wasThat for?” she asked. “No reason.” I reply.

Blogs I Read

Below you will find links to some of the many blogs I enjoy reading. They are broken down into categories and include only the FIVE MOST RECENT POSTS. You will find blogs written by teachers, librarians, homeschoolers, parents, authors, illustrators and many other folks who share a love for children's literature. Enjoy!